


All I Want for Christmas

by Res



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Breeding, Dark!Story, Deflowering of Virgins, F/M, Forced Breeding, Hair-pulling, House Elf as Sex Aid, Non-con grooming, Restraints, Scratching, Slavery, non-con sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-11
Updated: 2006-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Res/pseuds/Res
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione must replace what she took from the Malfoys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drownedatsea](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=drownedatsea).



> Warnings: BDSM, Non-con sex, Non-con grooming, House Elf as Sex Aid, Deflowering of Virgins, Restraints, Scratching, Biting, Hair-Pulling -- DARK!Story
> 
> Done as pinch-hit gift fic at http://harry-holidays.livejournal.com. Originally posted anonymously at http://harry-holidays.livejournal.com/46824.html .

The curtains were burgundy velvet -- that startled her, when they took the hood off. Somehow, she’d expected everything to be done in shades of Slytherin green. But the walls were covered in burgundy velvet drapes, the wing-backed chair in the corner was covered in a rich, deep crimson brocade, and the bed -- the only possible name for that colour was _blood_. A thickly shagged carpet of deep raspberry ochre covered the floor, save by the hearth, where it was replaced by flags of carnelian and jasper. Here, too, finally, was the Slytherin touch -- serpents of malachite were laid into the pillars and mantel of the hearth, the snakes of fragile green stone protected by the columns of rich red jasper they twined between.

The room all but _screamed_ wealth.... and whispered, ever so softly, _sex_.....like a breath in the ear as the lash of a whip trailed across the shoulders.

She shivered, looking around unobtrusively. There was no fire in the hearth -- yet. She knew that would change when _He_ arrived. _Him_ , the one she’d been bought for, the one Narcissa Malfoy had delighted in telling her about -- about how _He_ enjoyed breaking virgins, how _He_ enjoyed _breeding_ virgins to make servants for _His_ Lord....about how she, Narcissa, was looking forward to seeing Hermione herself finally tossed aside, fat, pregnant, and broken in mind and spirit.

”And then my Love will be whole again, and we will _rip_ the child from your belly to replace the angel you stole from us….” Narcissa had hissed into her ear.

Hermione had not realised until that moment that Narcissa was barren. ….not that she could use the information now. Draco Malfoy, son and heir and doted upon ‘angel’ of the Malfoy clan had died these two months past, victim of a spell backlash caused when his hex had bounced off of a ward Hermione herself had set to trap him. The Malfoys had abandoned their quest for Harry Potter’s blood and gone after Hermione from that point on, unable to accept the death of their son and laying the blame for his demise firmly at the feet of the ‘mudblood’ witch who’d been his undoing.

Even to the point of paying Muggle professionals to steal her away and deliver her, bound, naked and untouched -- bought and paid for -- into the very lap of the woman she had knelt before in the cool, red room hours before.

Narcissa Malfoy had looked down the pale length of her long, aristocratic nose at the Muggleborn girl, then reached out and sunk long, thin fingers into the riot of brown curls on the Hermione’s head. Almost gently, she had tightened her fist, gripping firmly before she yanked, hard, and forced Hermione Granger to look up at her -- delighting in the soft gasp of pain the yank produced. Ice gray eyes chilled further as she stared down, impassively, for several moments before speaking. “My Love will be home soon.” She smiled, just slightly, but it was more than enough to chill Hermione’s blood in her veins. “I expect you to...suitably entertain him with your...apologies.” She looked up, gestured; one of the six watching house elves had stepped forward with a length of bright red velvet ribbon, offering it to Narcissa with a small, solemn bow.

The Malfoy witch had smiled and taken the ribbon, running the thick, soft length of it between her hands. To the elves, “Chain her. Bind her to the foot of the bed, the way my Love prefers. Quickly!”

The six elves had sprung into action, grabbing Hermione by foot and hand and hair and dragging her toward the bed with no more care than if she’d been a particularly awkward bit of laundry. Quickly, they had bound her by the neck to the newel post at the foot of the enormous bed -- a heavy metal collar circled her throat, with four links of an equally heavy chain separating her from the wood, giving her a bare twelve inches of freedom. Her hands were shackled behind her, crossed and chained together, forearm to forearm, with a thin, light chain running from them up to her collar, through a ring at the back of the collar and around her throat before attaching to the ring again. Any struggle tightened the chain about the tender swell of her throat, strangling her.

Narcissa had smiled as the elves backed off again, leaving Hermione kneeling on the floor. “There, now...that’s lovely.” She had run the ribbon through her fingers a moment more, then stepped forward and carefully knotted it around the girl’s throat, tying a large, neat bow. She had fluffed it gently, tweaking the way it sat, then stepped back and surveyed the picture, smiling. “Perfect! Don’t you think, my dears?” she had asked the elves, who had all immediately begun bobbing and bowing, chattering in high-pitched voices, praising her, and her bow-tying talents until the witch snarled, _“Enough!”_

Smoothing a smile onto her face again, she had turned to Hermione once more. Sweetly, she added, “As I said...my Love should be home soon...certainly by tomorrow.” She had eyed the naked girl up and down, a faint sneer twisting her smile. “I expect you to greet him suitably, and please him well -- and don’t piddle on the floor, child, or you’ll have to sit in it until he chooses to have you clean it up.” The smile turned vicious, teeth gleaming whitely as she had continued, “...but not to worry. My Love will get his pleasure from you however you choose to behave.” The smile had become sweet again as Narcissa turned toward the door.

Pausing just on the verge of exiting, she had smiled once more at Hermione, gray eyes bright and frighteningly cheerful once more. “....I do believe this will be the best Christmas we’ve had in years.”  


***

 

Hermione didn’t know how long she’d been there when she heard a key turning in the lock to the door -- a long time, certainly several hours, perhaps even a whole night. She was cold, stiff and miserable, her throat was sore where the collar chaffed at it as she tried to find a comfortable position sitting upright against the heavy carved wood of the footboard, a position that wouldn’t pull on her arms, wouldn’t pull on her throat, and didn’t end up with something poking her in the spine, the ribs, the kidneys or any of a number of places she’d been poked so far. The crack of light coming through the opening door blinded her and she flinched back, closing her eyes.

“This had better be good, Cissy. You know how I hate surprises.” The masculine voice was cold, irritated and just nasal enough to come off haughty without trying. Hermione blinked against the light, shivering as she tried to see, her hair all about her face -- she couldn’t shake it back without hitting her head on the bed; she’d tried.

Narcissa’s voice was smooth as honey and twice as sweet, with an ingratiatingly fawning tone to it as she spoke. “It is, my Love. Very very good...just a few steps farther....”

The door creaked open farther, and finally Hermione could see past the light. Two shapes stood in the door -- one male, one female. The male had an emerald cloth (a scarf?) bound around his head, blinding him. The female became Narcissa as she stepped out of the direct glare from the doorway. She had one hand on the other’s arm, guiding him carefully into the room. The man was tall, slender, and had hair as pale a silver gold as Narcissa herself. Hermione knew when the blindfold came off, his eyes would be the same cold silver of his dead son’s -- the Malfoy genes ran true and Draco had been a near mirror image of his father, Lucius.

With a whispered word, all of the candles in the room flared to light and Narcissa took her hand off of her husband’s arm. “Now, my Love.... look what I’ve brought you for Christmas!” She sounded pitifully eager, like a child who’d brought a favourite toad out for the patriarch’s blessing.

Lucius turned his head and looked at her as he pulled the green scarf off. Narcissa gestured toward the bed, and he turned, eyes icy and dead in the candlelight. He paused, for just a moment, then slowly began to smile. Without looking at his wife, he spoke, “Cissy... you didn’t.” He began to approach the bed, taking slow, even strides, looking over the bound girl as he moved closer. Smiling, he finally looked toward his wife, who had followed him closer, her steps tentative and oddly shy. “You did, you naughty girl.” He turned and, cobra-quick, grabbed his wife by the back of the neck, yanking her closer.

Narcissa gasped, eyes wide with fright. With a whimper, she gasped, “I thought you’d be pleased, my Love! I got her for you -- it’s the mudblood who took our son from us! Please, my Love....you’re hurting me....” Lucius’ hand had twisted into the hair at the nape of her neck and he was slowly forcing her to her knees next to Hermione.

He smiled at her, twisting her head so she faced the brown-haired girl. “Cissy...look what you’ve done.” He pushed her head closer to the ribbon, then gave her a shake. “Red. You _know_ red is for gifts for our Lord -- do you intend to give this pretty little bitch to the Dark Lord or do you intend to give her to _me?”_ His hand twisted again, causing Narcissa to yelp as her pale hair was pulled.

She whimpered, hands coming up to grasp at her husband’s fist, his robes as she begged. “Forgive me, my Love! Please, forgive me -- I was so pleased to _have_ her for you... please, my Love, forgive me! She is for you! Only for you! She is a virgin, my Love! I checked!”

Lucius held her tightly in place as he let his eyes roam over Hermione’s naked body. His voice went soft and liquid. “A virgin?” His fist loosened slightly on Narcissa’s hair, though he did not let her rise. “Are you sure?” He reached out with his other hand to tip Hermione’s chin up, so he could look at her face. His fingers were cold against her skin and she shrank back, frightened by the hunger in his eyes. “...she’s been living with the Weasley whelp, Cissy. You _know_ how those mongrels breed -- worse than rabbits.”

Desperately, Narcissa gulped and swallowed, “I am certain, my Love -- I checked, I swear, she is a virgin. The Weasley isn’t interested in her -- my sources say he’s got eyes only for the Potter boy. He’s _defective,_ my love, they both are -- they want nothing to do with this girl; they haven’t touched her. She will be yours, my Love. Only yours!” She whimpered as his hand tightened in her hair again. “Please, my Love... you are hurting me...!”

Lucius hesitated a moment, and then threw her from him. Narcissa sprawled across the floor, her gowns a pool of silvered green around her. She stayed where he’d thrown her, pressed to the floor as he spoke again. “Has she been cleaned?” He spoke sharply, eyes still on Hermione. “Have you groomed her?”

Narcissa shook her head, desperate to please. “No, my Love -- look at her, check her fleece, her underarms. I haven’t touched her, save to make certain she was untouched by the Weasley whelp and the Potter child. She is completely untouched, my Love, absolutely pristine for you!”

Lucius straightened, finally turning to look at his wife, smiling. Voice soft, he praised her. “You’ve done well, my dear. ....I will forgive you the ribbon. It is Christmas, after all -- red is a good colour for Christmas. We will bind our gift to our Lord in green this year, instead -- change is good, for special occasions. Makes them more special.” His face hardened, voice chilling. “Now get out. I wish to enjoy my gift. I will call you when I am ready for you again.”

Narcissa scrambled from the room without another word, closing the door behind herself as she went.

Lucius turned back to Hermione, reaching out a hand and gently stroking her hair back from her face. “Well, now, my sweet....shall we begin?”

Hermione spat at him, trying to cover fear with anger. “Piss off!”

Lucius simply smiled at her. “Do fight me, my dear... it will make this so much more fun.” He turned away and began to disrobe, pulling off the formal outer robes, laying them across the foot of the bed, then bending and removing his shoes, setting them carefully together by the door. Carefully, he untied his cravat, and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his heavy silk shirt. Turning, he pulled out his wand, calling at the same time for the house elves. “Dinky! Pawly! Valy! Come here!”

The three elves appeared in the room with faint pops, bowing and scraping, and greeting their master with apparent delight. Two of them immediately set about straightening the room, putting away the robes and shoes, starting the fire, turning down the bed. The third approached their master and face planted itself at his feet, speaking into the carpet. “Dinky is here, Master! Dinky serves! What does Master wish -- Dinky will do!”

The other two elves echoed Dinky -- “Pawly will do, Master!”, “Valy will do, Master!” -- without pausing in their chores.

Lucius pointed his wand at Hermione in an elegant, careless gesture. “My new pet needs grooming. Do.”

Dinky turned his head and looked at Hermione, then smiled. “Dinky do, Master. Does Master wish a scent?”

Lucius considered a moment, the smiled, slowly. “Vanilla.” Looking at Hermione, he added, as if to her, “They say it increases potency.”

Dinky chanted, “Dinky do, Master!”, and bounced to his feet. Quickly, he clapped his hands and Pawly and Valy vanished, only to pop back a moment later with a large silver platter, staggering under the weight of it. It was nearly four feet to a side, a little bit longer than it was wide, and had silver eyehooks at each corner and one in the middle of each side. Quickly, the two elves placed it in front of the wing-backed chair, and then vanished once more. Dinky fussed with the strange platter, patting it this way and that, until he was pleased with its positioning. Gracefully, he gestured for his Master to sit, squeaking happily, “Would Master like refreshment while the pet is groomed?”

Lucius settled himself comfortably into the chair, reclining with easy grace. “Yes. Wine, sweetmeats, cheese -- and a little bit of chocolate, I think.” His eyes stayed on Hermione, cool and assessing, while his fingers played with his wand. “Quickly, Dinky. I am impatient tonight.”

Dinky nodded and vanished with a soft _crack_ just as the other two elves reappeared, carrying buckets that steamed softly, brushes and an assortment of oils, combs and files. Briskly, they arranged these items behind the silver platter, then planted themselves face down on the carpet next to the implements while they waited for Dinky to reappear with the refreshments. Dinky did so quickly, placing the tray on a small table next to his Master’s chair before turning and looking over the supplies his subordinates had brought. Nodding, pleased, he tapped them each on the shoulder and all three bowed to Lucius. Dinky spoke, his voice respectful and just a little eager. “The grooming is ready, Master. We is ready to begin when you is wanting us.”

Lucius savoured the bit of cheese he held in his fingers, then picked up his wine glass, sipping the deep red wine -- just the colour of the drapes covering the walls. After a moment, he nodded. “Begin, Dinky.” He smiled. “Do not mark the pet -- but you do not have to be gentle.”

Dinky beamed. “Yes, Master!” Imperiously, he turned and clapped his hands at the other two elves. “Master is ready! Begin grooming the new pet!” His squeaky voice was surprisingly commanding.

Pawly and Valy sprang into action, swarming over to Hermione. Before she could even yelp, they’d unhooked her chain from the bed and given her a yank, knocking her onto her face so they could reach the chain binding her wrists behind her back. She protested, and one -- Valy, she thought -- promptly grabbed a fistful of her hair and shoved her face into the carpet. Valy’s voice was a bit higher than Dinky’s as she scolded, “Be _quiet_! Pets will not speak or they will be muzzled!” Firmly, the elf trod on the curly brown hair, pinning Hermione’s head to the floor as she and her companion elf uncoupled the wrist shackles, then dragged the young witch’s aching arms in front of her.

As soon as her hair was released, Hermione struggled to get to her feet, only to be yanked forward again, this time by her aching arms. Her knees ached and burned as they went skidding on the carpet and suddenly Dinky was there, scolding. “Master said no marks! Do not mark the new pet!” Valy was properly apologetic, bowing to Lucius and promising to iron her hands as soon as the grooming was completed. Dinky stepped in to assist, taking a secure fistful of Hermione’s curly brown hair and using it to keep her bent nearly double as she scrambled to her feet.

With Dinky holding her hair, Pawly on one wrist and Valy on the other, all tugging her forward, Hermione was tripping over the lip of the silver platter before she knew what had happened. Dinky gave a solid yank and she fell to her knees on the cold metal, yelping in pain as the rug burns hit the hard surface. Dinky’s hand suddenly caught her collar and before she realised what he was doing, the short chain dangling from it had been attached to the center hook on the far side of the platter. She tried to rear back, but came up short as the chain was secured. Pawly and Valy quickly attached her wrists to the hooks at the upper corners of the platter, leaving her partially sprawled on the metal, her throat attached by twelve inches of chain to the floor of the platter, knees spread as she tried to balance herself.

Lucius smiled, admiring the sight of the naked girl chained before him. Silently, he nodded to Dinky, and the house elf clapped his hands again. Pawly grabbed a soft-bristled brush, dunked it into the nearest bucket, and set to work, scrubbing the brush across the expanse of Hermione’s back, rubbing hard enough to turn the pale skin pink under the brush. Valy grabbed another brush and, dunking it in the other bucket, began to repeat the motions across Hermione’s front, scrubbing the brush with equal force over belly, thighs and breasts, all the same, taking no care for the tender skin of nipple or flank.

Hermione yelped and squirmed, cursing. “Stop, _stop!_ Ow, you’re hurting -- _OW!”_

Dinky had slapped her upturned buttocks with an open hand. “The pet will be _silent_ or the pet will be muzzled!” He spoke sharply, then turned and picked up a brush of his own. Dunking it into the closest bucket, he began to scrub it over Hermione’s buttocks. He scrubbed across the arch of rump, down into the crack and across the sensitive skin of her anus, and then down across the lips of her vagina, scrubbing hard.

She squealed and kicked like a mule, catching the house elf squarely in the belly and sending him sailing across the room, throwing herself backward against the collar around her throat, fighting the shackles at her wrists holding her down. Lucius leaned forward, watching -- his breath caught in his throat at the glorious sight. Naked, wet skin glistening in the light from the fire, from the candles -- a wild riot of brown curls flying all about a furious face -- feet kicking futilely -- hands curling into helpless fists, dragging back uselessly against the heavy shackles pinning them to the floor -- the echo of ragged breath slowly strangling off -- helpless, terrified whimpers seeping out of a red, wet mouth. His hand drifted down, almost unconsciously finding and squeezing his cock, his legs parting as he sprawled into the chair, fingers lightly caressing the filling length. Softly, almost breathlessly, he murmured, “...beautiful...yes, fight, pretty pet.”

Pawly and Valy, however, were unimpressed. They dropped their brushes and each attacked an ankle, quickly yanking Hermione’s feet down and back, snapping on ankle shackles and attaching her feet to the two eyehooks in the bottom corners of the silver platter before going to pick up Dinky, dusting him off briskly, and returning to their work once more, scrubbing with renewed vigour. Dinky picked up his brush, turned it over, and began to sharply spank the young witch with it, bringing it down onto her bottom with hard, skin-reddening cracks, one after the other as Hermione yelped in pain and squirmed to get away.

The house elf kept up the spanking, bringing the hard, flat surface of the brush down on her tender skin, until Hermione was reduced to tears, sobbing almost incoherently, elbows trembling as she wept. “Please, please stop...!”

Furiously, the house elf strode over to the pile of implements and picked up a rubber bit and head harness. Making his way to Hermione’s head, he briskly shoved the bit into her mouth, fastening the harness tightly around her head as he repeated, “The pet will be _silent_ or the pet will be _muzzled!”_ , giving the harness an extra tweak to draw it just that one notch tighter.

Hermione simply wept, head hanging, as the elves finished their grooming. Lucius stroked himself through the soft suede of his trousers, watching as the house elves groomed his pet thoroughly -- washing her hair and combing it out into attractive ringlets, nicely arranged around the head harness; scrubbing her skin from head to foot, until she was a lovely rose colour all over. They even filed and painted her finger- and toenails, choosing a delicate shell pink to accent the paleness of her skin. Dinky himself took care of the personal grooming, trimming the fleece around her vagina with great care to get every hair exactly the same length, plucking out the hairs, one by one, that marred the small heart-shape he’d chosen to sculpt the pubic fur into. As a final touch, Dinky had taken a small finger-full of glistening, vanilla-scented lubricant and carefully lubed the witch’s breeding passage for his master, sliding his long fingers in and out of the restrained girl’s body to spread the lubricant thoroughly. He nodded approvingly at the way the tight, wet passage clutched around his fingers, the muscles tightening instinctively against the intrusion -- Master would be pleased.

Finally, she was groomed to perfection. The three elves cleaned up the water spilled into the silver tray, buffing it dry before repacking their grooming supplies. Dinky carefully checked the work of the other elves, and then sent them on their way with the various impedimenta. The elf posed at Hermione’s head, then gave Lucius a deep, respectful bow as he squeaked, almost sonorously, “The pet is groomed, Master.” He remained bent over, waiting.

Lazily stroking his cock, Lucius licked chocolate off the fingers of his other hand, taking his time before he looked again. Slowly, his eyes roamed over the naked girl, lingering on the upturned rump, then drifting to consider her face, half hidden in the glistening ringlets of hair. He frowned. “Make her look at me. I want to see her face.”

Dinky leapt to obey, forcing Hermione’s head up against the collar, turning her by the chin to face his Master. When she refused to open her eyes, he tweaked her ear sharply, causing her to yelp -- but she still refused to look. With a glance to his Master for permission, the gnarled little elf reached down and firmly pinched one tender nipple, giving it a vicious twist. Hermione squealed around the bit, her eyes popping open as she flinched back, struggling to get away. Nodding, satisfied, Dinky again forced her head around to face his Master, holding her still for Lucius’ appraisal.

Lucius smiled, lips parting slowly, eyes cold and dead as he continued to stroke his cock. His fingers looped up and over, around and around, squeezing lazily as he considered the girl. “Very nice, Dinky...I think she’ll do.” He nodded, then frowned fiercely at the elf. “Get out.”

Dinky didn’t even pause to bow, vanishing from his spot with the faintest of pops and a brush of cool air across Hermione’s face.

Malfoy rose, still slowly stroking himself, his suede trousers open at the flys and peeled back and down, nearly falling off of slender hips. His shirt was unbuttoned all the way down, and untucked, falling about his hips in a loose wash of ivory silk, revealing skin nearly as pale. Hermione was oddly surprised to see that the hair of his groin was even paler than the hair on his head -- nearly a true silver-white, the only gold in it lent by the fire light. He sauntered toward her, then around her, murmuring softly, “Such a pretty little pet.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Oh...that makes you angry, doesn’t it, little one. You’re nobody’s pet, you think...a free woman.” There was a soft, slithering rustle behind her and she turned her head to look, despite herself. Lucius had slipped off his trousers, dropping them carelessly across the foot of the bed, bending to strip off his socks and toss them to the floor by his shoes. He turned toward her and smiled to see her watching him. “So eager, my pretty little pet! Not to worry....you’re next.”

She shuddered, then fought the shackles at wrist and ankle, trying to get loose. She could hear him laugh, behind her, as she threw herself from side to side, accomplishing little more than bruises to her wrists and neck. Suddenly, he was behind her, his hands, cool, almost cold, against her hips, bracing her. A chill slid through her and she lunged forward, nearly falling on her face -- saved only by the suddenly firm grip he held her by. “Come now, my sweet....,” his voice was amused, growing darker, more heated as he spoke, “...patience. We’ll get to that part eventually.” He released one hip, sliding his hand down, between her legs -- his fingers were cold against the wet lips of her vagina as they slipped into the wet folds of naked flesh, probing firmly.

Hermione squealed again, trying to scream as she twisted, fighting the shackles again. She threw her body to the side, then back, trying to escape his fingers as he slid them into her, testing the fit. She could hear the rough pleasure in his voice as he murmured a soft, “Ah...!” His voice had gone low and rough, his hand tightening on her hip, fingers digging sharply into her flesh. The hand between her legs pressed in harder, fingers curling to probe deep, slipping into the channel of her sex. His breathing sped up, going shallow and ragged when she squealed again, her mind blanking and her body taking over, instincts driving her fight now. Her body rocked away from him, trying to evade his hand -- then swung back, into his hand as momentum overbalanced her and she countered to keep from falling, inadvertently driving herself onto his fingers.

She yelped and lunged away again, tensing as his thumb stroked down, the cold pad of it finding the nub of her clitoris and beginning to press, using the motions of her body to rub and stroke.

Lucius smiled as she fought him, kneeling between her spread thighs, his hand knuckles deep in the hot channel of her body. He loved when they fought him like this -- the harder they fought, the more aroused he became. He loved the sounds they made, the helpless whimpers, the protesting yelps and cries -- he especially loved it when Dinky muzzled them, taking words away from his pets, putting them in their proper places...as creatures, animals for his pleasure. He could feel his cock swelling, hardening as her struggles stroked her skin randomly across his flesh. He gasped in amused pleasure as she rocked back into him once more, her body tightening around his fingers as the muscles both accepted and rejected his invasion.

He worked his fingers in and out of her body for a few moments, rubbing his thumb across the sensitive flesh of her clitoris, pleased as he felt her body respond. Hermione wept as the thrusts of his fingers into her became eased by a rush of slick fluid, the slide of skin on skin driving her body to produce its natural lubricant. Finally, Lucius withdrew his hand from her passage, and gripped himself, easing forward between her legs. Hermione jerked as his cock brushed her nether lips, wiggling her hips in a mad effort to escape -- Lucius merely laughed, gripping her hip harder and pressing himself into her; she couldn’t escape.

He seated the head of his cock into her before shifting to grip both of her hips, hesitating just a moment, then thrusting hard and deep, laughing as he drove himself into her. Hermione screamed into her bit as he tore through her maidenhead, withdrew and thrust again, then again, the rock of his body into hers forcing her forward against her restraints, her body automatically thrusting back to keep from falling over -- and, as a result, meeting him thrust for thrust, a slap of flesh on flesh as he pounded into her. His fingers dug into her hips as he yanked her against him with each thrust, still laughing, though his laughter began to be interrupted by faint gasps as intense sensations of pleasure began to climb into his belly with each deep thrust. He groaned, his head falling forward, long golden hair brushing her back, tickling; his breathing grew rough and panting, heaving in time with his hips as he began to speed up, driving himself to completion.

Hermione wept, head hanging, the fight seeping out of her as he pounded his cock into her. Her breasts rocked under her, swaying with the motion of her body as she braced to keep from falling with each shift of his weight against her. Lucius grinned, releasing one hip and reaching up to rake his nails down her back. “Fight me, pretty pet... let’s see what you are made of!” Viciously, he raked his fingers down her back again, leaving deep red welts in his wake, smiling as she screamed and whimpered, arching against him -- taking him deeper as the angle of his body thrusting into hers changed. Pleased, he bent forward, grabbing her hair and pulling hard, keeping her flexed under him as his hips sped up their thrusting rhythm, driving faster and faster into her, holding her immobile under him now as he took his pleasure, his entire focus on the wet, tight, slick grip of her body around his.

Finally, the steady rhythm went ragged, jerky -- and he froze, choking slightly as the wave of sensation rose up, swamping him as his body went into rigidity, completing its purpose, pumping spurt after viscous spurt of semen into the female beneath him. The last thick spurt gushed out of him, taking the muscle freeze with it and he collapsed onto the body below him. Hermione’s head hit the silver tray with a soft crack, wringing a fresh series of sobs from her.

Lucius rested against her for several moments, catching his breath, relishing the feel of the soft, trembling body under his. He listened to the sobbing and smiled, slowly drawing one hand up the soft ribs under him, sliding down to gently fondle one breast, pleased to find the nipple hard and peaked under his touch. “Mmmmm.....well done, pet.” He turned his head, nuzzling the softly scented skin of her shoulder blade, fingers tweaking and rolling the pert little nipple as he spoke. “...I think we should do it again.” He opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the soft skin, biting down hard, marking her as his -- his mate, his property, bitch to his dog, his slave -- delighting in the softly squealed scream that resulted. Shifting, he released her, pulling back and out of her body before reaching for his wand and casting a series of cleansing spells.

Smiling, he slipped his fingers into Hermione’s body again. “Ready, pet?”

The witch under him just sobbed.

 

End


End file.
